Women of Shinra
by CameoAmalthea
Summary: Scarlet and Elena walk into an elevator and absolutely nothing funny happens. A look at why Elena joined the Turks, and got her hair cut short.


In the lobby of the Shin-ra building two women raced towards the elevator. Both were small framed, wore heels and had their long blond hair tied up in some fashion, but it was there the similarities ended. The older of the two was an executive in a red evening gown who seemed bent on cutting a war path to the elevator, while the younger, hair still in pig tails like a school girl, wore the uniform of a Turk but held none of the confidence.

The executive elevator was apparently down for maintenance, which meant Scarlet was forced to take the main elevator. She hadn't expected to be forced to share; most people knew enough not to get on with her as part of a general policy of staying out Scarlet's way. Evidently, Elena hadn't gotten the memo.

To be fair, it was the girl's first day and no one had had a chance to warn her. Besides, Elena had barely noticed the other woman. Her head was down, eyes fixed on the floor. So the glares Scarlet sent her way never really hit their target. Elena was so lost in her own thoughts that she might as well have been alone in the elevator.

Elena pressed the button for the Turks' floor and couldn't believe she was doing this. Maybe in the end, becoming a Turk had been a forgone conclusion for her. Not that she was particularly gifted with the attributes that made a good Turk, whatever those were. In truth she was naturally clumsy, forgetful, disorganized, said too much; more often than not her face gave away everything she thought or felt, and keeping emotions in check had never been her strong suit. All the same, she had never really had any other choice in life. Her father was a teacher at the Shin-ra Academy, and a military life was all Elena had ever known.

While most little girls dream of being princesses or chocobo trainers, all Elena had dreamt of was making her father proud, something her perfect sister was very good at. As for her mother, she was long dead and gone, but her memory remained as well as her legacy.

* * *

><p>They say on funeral days the sky either pours down sunshine or pours down rain, but nothing in between, and on the day her mother was buried the sun shone without a single cloud in the sky.<p>

Her mother's name was Jacqueline Carter, nee Ripley, but like most of the Turks she had given up her surname in life. Turks were not known by their family name, in lieu of a surname their first name was simply followed by 'of the Turks'; barring a few exceptions.

Of course, now that Jackie of the Turks was dead her tombstone bore her full name along with her dates of birth and death. Jackie had been old for a Turk. Most were not expected to live long enough to start a family, let alone have two daughters. It wasn't the sort of life conducive to having a family at all, but that hadn't stopped Jackie. Nothing could stop Jackie.

The first woman in the department, she'd shattered gender barriers as surely as targets. She was a deadeye with a gun; once, shortly after joining, she'd beaten Vincent Valentine at marksmanship on a bet. She'd made sure that the department of administrative defense was an equal opportunity employer by proving that her gender would only be an asset. She also fell in love with a military man, married him, and started a family. Who said you couldn't have the best of both worlds? Not Jackie, that was for sure. She took 'you can't' as a challenge; nothing could stop her.

Except for the bullet that had stopped her heart.

The funeral was small, attended by fellow Turks, military personnel and family. Elena was two years old and had bawled the entire time. Her elder sister, Rosalind, was silent and did her best not to cry.

Veld had been in attendance, along with his family, and it was then he first noticed Rosalind. Although the girl held her father's hand like any child would, she stood at attention like a natural born soldier. Veld had offered his condolences to the family, and asked if there was anything he could do. The words had been addressed to Major Carter, their father, but it was Rosalind who had spoken up.

"Sir?" she asked, "There's something you could do for me. When I'm old enough. If I work hard, can I join your department?" She spoke clearly; at eight years old she was still a child, voice high pitched and strained with grief, but she did her best to sound like an adult. She was serious, exuding determination if not yet confidence.

It seemed an odd question to Veld. The girl had just lost her mother to active duty, why would she ask such a thing? He looked to the girl's father, and tried to read his feelings. Perhaps he was the sort of man who would forbid such a thing outright; perhaps blaming the department for the loss of his wife.

Instead he smiled at his daughter, and said, "She'd do her mother proud. Give her a few years at the academy, and I'll whip her into shape." Major Carter was a teacher at the Shin-ra Military academy, so admittance was all but guaranteed for his children.

Veld gave Major Carter a small smile, and regarded Rosalind. "If it's what you want," he told her, "and you earn it, there will be a place for you with the Turks."

"What else could she want?" asked their father. "We're a military family, Shin-ra through and through, and they don't let girls in SOLDIER."

* * *

><p>Elena did not remember that day anymore than she remembered her mother, but she grew up hearing the story. Her father loved to tell that story, his little daughter asking the director of the Turks if she could join up. Even as a little girl his darling Rosalind knew what she wanted.<p>

Elena had never been really sure what she wanted…and she still wasn't. Even now, standing in the elevator, her stomach was in knots. Part of her mind was screaming at her to run. That she was making a mistake, that she might not be cut out for this and if she didn't try to back out now there would be no turning back.

She was an adult, eighteen years old, but sometimes she felt so young and so unsure. The only thing she ever had been sure of in her life was that she _didn't _want to become a Turk.

Along with the funeral story, she had grown up hearing about what a great Turk her mother had been - but only in the context of how Rosalind was just like her mother. Everyone went on and on about how much Rosalind looked liked her mother, especially her eyes. As for Elena, she had her father's eyes and none of his attention or approval.

Rosalind resembled Jackie, but she was every bit her father's daughter. Their father was a military man, and schooled in the ways of a warrior. Rosalind was his prized pupil; she was serious, studious, and possessed deadly proficiency, even surpassing their father at marksmanship, just as her mother had before her. Rosalind graduated top of her class and was recruited to the Turks immediately upon graduation, and her father couldn't have been more proud.

Elena knew the man would never look at her with half as much approval. She had followed in her sister's footsteps in school, earning top marks and many accolades, but her father seemed to regard this as the bare minimum of what was expected. If Elena performed to a lesser standard, she would be told as much, always in comparison to her sister, who was oh so much better than she'd ever be.

Perhaps, in his way, her father meant to encourage her. Maybe he hoped she would see her sister as an inspiration to excel; perhaps his apparent favoritism was meant to challenge her to surpass her elder sibling. In reality all it did was cast Turbo on the Firaga of sibling rivalry, and made Elena determined to be anything but just like her sister.

She gave up firearms training and pursued martial arts instead. She wore her golden hair long, even though doing so was a liability in hand to hand combat, because Ros had always kept her hair short and if there one thing that annoyed Elena it was _anyone_ saying how much she looked like her sister. Above all else, Elena had vowed that she would _never _join the Turks.

Yet now here Elena was in a brand new dark suit, gun at her side and actually feeling nervous about the whole thing.

The girl's unease was quite evident to Scarlet, who was watching her out of the corner of her eye. Not very becoming for a Turk, but Scarlet found it amusing. She had a desire to crush Elena in the way a particularly sadistic cat might contemplate what exactly to do about a bird with a broken wing. Scarlet didn't like weakness but she rather enjoyed crushing weak things. It was what they deserved, part of the natural order of things. She also had decided almost at once that she disliked this girl in particular.

To Scarlet, not staying out of her elevator was the same as not staying out of her way. She _liked_ it when people stayed out of her way. Besides, Elena was young, pretty without trying to be, and had such gorgeous long blond hair, even longer than Scarlet's own, and if there was one thing Scarlet hated it was other women who could pull off _her _look better.

Of course, these were all just petty things. What really got under Scarlet's skin was that this girl was a Turk, a brand new baby Turk. Scarlet had so hoped to put an end to that department. So many of them had died, and it would have been such a simple matter to eliminate the survivors.

Damn the brat for interfering. Scarlet didn't trust Rufus, and certainly didn't think he was the sort to stick his neck out for anyone. No, there was some other motive here. The Turks were still suspect in Scarlet's book and so was the Vice President. Well, they wouldn't be given any more chances. If there were any question as to their loyalty, they would die, and if at all possible Rufus would suffer for defending the traitors in the first place.

Scarlet had only ever been loyal to Shin-ra, she had no other ambitions than to tie her fate to that of company she loved. Shin-ra was her baby. If anyone even thought about hurting her company they would die for it, and yet the Turks still lived thanks to Rufus. Rufus was in line to inherit everything, but Scarlet doubted he cared about Shin-ra at all. Rufus only cared about himself, his own power, power he'd never worked to get. Scarlet had clawed her way to the top through hard work, know-how, and sheer ruthlessness. It pained her to know the company she'd helped build would inevitably be handed off to Rufus who'd done nothing more to earn it other than pop out of the right vagina. A pain made worse by the fact Rufus had thrown his lot in with lying traitors who didn't ascribe to her company-first mentality.

Really, what had Rufus ever done for Shin-ra? His entire stint as Vice President had been spent off somewhere, and she wasn't entirely sure she believed the extended business trip story. For Shin-ra's sake it would be better to disgrace the boy. Maybe then the President would bequeath his empire to someone who actually gave a damn, and Scarlet had given everything she had to give.

All that was left was to put the Turks to the test. She knew the Turks wouldn't like what the Board had planned for Sector 7 or the Cetra girl, so perhaps Scarlet wouldn't have long to wait. All the same it bothered her to see this new Turk. The Turks were supposed to be eliminated, not gathering more recruits. It was like having nearly wiped out an infestation only to discover a fresh litter of vermin; Turks were so much like cockroaches, hard to kill and even harder to get rid of permanently.

If Elena had looked up at that moment, she would have seen a world of contempt in Scarlet's eyes, but fortunately she was still lost in her own little world of questions and memories. To think, not that long ago Elena had sworn to herself that being a bartender in a slum bar was a better option than turning Turk.

Not that Elena had thought bartending was going to be a lifetime career thing. She wasn't sure what she wanted. She imagined that if there'd ever really been a choice she'd have wanted to do something sweet with her life, like be a ballerina…except she was clumsy and really only wanted it for the pretty costumes.

Elena loved dresses, although the only one she owned was her school uniform. She couldn't justify buying dresses, but she liked the idea. Wouldn't it be nice to just be girly? This was not something her father really understood. He always criticized her for keeping her hair long, and choosing the dress uniform at school, because he didn't see any practicality in that, because it wasn't what Rosalind would have done. Sometimes Elena just wished she could be soft and sweet. She liked the idea of flowers, stuffed moogles, wearing pink and having some tall dark handsome hero who would keep her safe in his arms.

Except she knew better than to want such things, because _real_ women could take care of themselves, or so she had been taught. Not that she minded being able to take care of herself. Knowing she could break the arm of any bar drunk or street thug who tried anything had definitely given her confidence. It was just that sometimes working so hard to live up everyone's expectations didn't leave any room to just be herself or figure out what _she_ wanted. Maybe part of her wished that she could be weak and still be good enough for someone.

Of course, being weak wasn't good enough for her. Elena was keenly aware of her shortcomings and strived to correct them. Elena was proud, to a fault, if only to cover up the fear that she really wasn't all that good. That was the reason, when she'd noticed the suspicious "soldiers" in the slums and knew something was off, she'd looked into it on her own instead of telling the Turks. Because she didn't need help, especially not from her sister and friends well, until she managed to get herself kidnapped. Then she'd needed help, even if she didn't want to admit it.

It had been Rosalind who'd saved her. Risked everything to save her, or maybe it was no risk because Rosalind knew she'd come out on top. Elena would have given anything to be that confident.

Rosalind hadn't seemed the least bit worried. "I can make everything up in no time. We do whatever it takes to succeed. That's what the Turks do."

It was then that Elena had made her choice. She wanted to join the Turks, not to follow in her sister's footsteps but to surpass her. Elena wanted what Rosalind had, that unquestioning resolve. No fear, just certainty. That was the pride of the Turks. No matter how bad things got, or what failures they faced, they never let go, they never gave up. Elena wanted to be like that.

Scarlet cleared her throat. Not because she particularly wanted to make conversation with the vermin that had squeaked its way onto _her _elevator, but because she hated for all the non-verbal venom she was sending the Turk's way to go unnoticed.

Elena looked up.

"You're new?" asked Scarlet. "I guess Tseng must be really _desperate _for replacements."

Elena's face flushed red, hands curling into fists. "Excuse me?"

Scarlet laughed and Elena wasn't sure which was worse, the sound of Scarlet's laugh or that fact she was being laughed at. "Why, just look at you," she said. She reached out, touching Elena's hair. "You're like some little doll, aren't you? Everyone can see you aren't cut out for this, but then again beggars can't be choosers. You do know most of the department died quite horrible deaths recently, so many vacancies to fill and I doubt there are that many applications. Still, you'd think Tseng could have done better."

"Don't touch me," said Elena. It took all her self-control not to make the woman regret touching her. She knew better than that though; this wasn't the slums, and now that she was a Turk she couldn't use violence to solve her problems. Not unless she was ordered to, anyway.

"Oh I'm sorry," said Scarlet. "Your hair is just so pretty. Not really suitable for Turk, but I'm sure the director will like it. He has a thing for innocent young girls." The elevator dinged. They'd reached Elena's destination.

Elena looked at her watch. She'd come an hour early. Maybe there was time to run and get a haircut before anyone in her department saw her. Elena would not have anyone think she'd gotten this job because of her looks. Besides, maybe the vile woman had a point. She was grown up now; it was time to stop looking like a little girl. Elena was a Turk after all, so she should try to look the part, and when she imagined what a perfect Turk was supposed to look like she could only picture her sister.

The next time Scarlet saw the young Turk, Elena's hair was clipped short. Not quite short enough that she might be mistaken for a boy, but almost, and it certainly wasn't nearly as pretty as Scarlet's own long blond hair. Scarlet smiled at the sight, and laughed to herself. It reminded Scarlet of the time she'd spat gum into a rival's hair at boarding school. Even after all these years, this was still just as satisfying.

However, even though Scarlet did not realize it, the situations were in fact quite different. Elena actually found she liked her hair short. Every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection she couldn't help but think it suited her. She looked like a Turk, looked like Rosalind, although not exactly the same. Elena still contended that she had a better sense of style than her sister, and her sleek asymmetrical bob looked much better than Rosalind's bangs ever had. She was already outdoing her at one thing and that was a start.

Really though, since Rosalind was gone, not dead like everyone thought but in hiding indefinitely, Elena's desire to beat her had sort of faded. Rosalind had helped save the world, so maybe just following in her footsteps wouldn't be so bad. She felt almost as if, since Ros was gone, someone had to carry on for her. Rosalind had lived their mother's legacy and maybe Elena could live hers and be happy with that. Except if all you have is another person's legacy, can you ever really stand on your own? Would anyone ever see her as just Elena instead of Rosalind's sister?

Her sister had done so much; Elena didn't know what she could do or what dangers she could face that would stand out in comparison. What could she possibly have in life that her sister hadn't already earned? Still, no matter what, Elena would have her pride as a Turk. The same pride Rosalind had had, the same pride they all had, but there was something about it that made one's personal pride matter less. So maybe she could be happy being Rosalind's sister, Elena of the Turks, because despite everything that was exactly the person she saw in her reflection, and Elena admired that girl in the mirror.

**AN A Gift for , who said she liked psychological, introspective bullshit and cannon things. I noticed she'd written about Elena before, and seemed to like Scarlet, so this is introspective bullshit featuring those characters.**

**Parts of this fic also appear in the second chapter of "Life is Stronger Than Death".**

**Thanks to Licoriceallsorts for being an incredible beta! **


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